


Thank You for the Coffee

by AnnieMallistic



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shop, Background Gerard Way/Bert McCracken, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2012-11-18
Packaged: 2017-11-18 23:30:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 19,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/566500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnieMallistic/pseuds/AnnieMallistic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 1999, Gerard Way's final year at college, and he's hurriedly trying to finish up all of his art assignments, searching for somewhere he can concentrate to do his work.<br/>That place ends up being a cafe in which Frank Iero is working, trying to rebuild his bank account after his dreams fell apart and left him both broke and directionless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

### 60 Days Until Hand In

Gerard hefted his backpack onto a shoulder and raised one corner of his mouth as an attempt at a smile. 

“I’ll come back when I can, but I just really need to knuckle down, you know?”

His poor mother was never going to take the news well. It was only a couple of months until Gerard was done with college, but Donna had always been used to having him around; so much so that it would feel like years until she saw him again. It was only in this last academic year that he’d even bothered getting a student house, much less stay in it. 

Gerard had never been what you would call a social butterfly. He’d spent the majority of high school and college holed up in his room when he didn’t have class, and apart from his classmates beginning to fear him as some sort of sociopath it had never really been an issue. He had a good number of friends; laid-back, who didn’t worry or get angry if he declined their offers to hang out. Gerard was borderline hermit; it was just a fact of life.

Nowadays hiding in his room didn’t provide the sort of relief he was after. His family weren’t overly intrusive or anything – they knew Gerard well enough to not poke their heads around the door every five minutes. However, he could sit at a McDonald’s booth in the middle of a crowded mall and get more work done amongst the noise and bustle than he would at home where no one would bother him. The barrier of a door was no longer enough. He found it much easier - and indeed much more tempting - to procrastinate whilst at home, which probably explained most of it. 

As much as he loved art, it could be really lonely sometimes; lonely in ways that didn’t make sense to the people Gerard was cutting himself off from. If he didn’t give in to the isolation, the art would suffer; something he couldn’t risk as he was approaching his final deadline. 

“Sure, honey,” his mother replied miserably. “But you’ll come back for your birthday, right?”

Even if he hadn’t already been planning to, her pleading eyes would have changed his mind.

“Of course, Mom,” he reassured her warmly.

Donna nodded and gave her eldest a tight hug goodbye, before mumbling something about the phone ringing and shuffling back into the house. Gerard was left with his father. 

“I don’t know why she’s making such a big deal,” he grumbled, tugging the rucksack back into place from where it had started to slip. “It’s only a couple of months.”

Donald gave Gerard a mildly stern look. “I think you do. Just give her a call every once in a while, alright?”

Gerard smiled and nodded, giving his dad a quick hug, too.

“Get your work done on time, and stay away from those nightclubs, alright? You can’t afford to be wasting time.” Gerard nodded wearily to his dad’s well-intended instructions. “And Gerard? ...Your mother wanted me to ask about the pills.”

Gerard sighed, and smiled a little. _That’s_ why she was so worried. 

“I’m still taking them, I promise. That’s not what this is about. I feel better than I have in a long time.” It wasn’t a lie. “Ask Mikey.”

Those two words confirmed to Don that his son was telling the truth, and was relieved that he could report back to his wife with good news. “Good. Now let’s get you to the station.”

Gerard could have used the car journey to try and explain to his father why he felt the need to stay in New York for the last couple of months of his course, but he couldn’t quite muster the effort. Instead he stressed to his dad just how much work he needed to complete by mid-May, and hoped to garner the sympathy vote. 

*

“Iero, the boss wants to see you.” 

Frank wiped his hands on the apron around his waist and gestured to the bowl he’d placed on the hotplate. “Fries to the blonde in the middle.” 

For all the times to haul him into the office, the lunchtime slot probably wasn’t the best choice. The place was a regular coffee joint, prided on its caffeinated beverages and snacks as opposed to full meals. However, the draw was that their food was cheap, which always attracted the frazzled students at lunch and early evening. 

Frank knocked briefly on the office door and went in before hearing a reply. His boss was wiping the sweat from his brow and trying to crack the window open even further. That was the thing about working here; the walls seemed to soak up the heat. It was always hot at Westside Cafeteria, whether it was summer or winter. 

“You wanted to see me?” Frank asked.

“Yeah,” his boss said, gesturing for Frank to take a seat. “I haven’t been met with too much enthusiasm on this idea so far, but if you’re in it’s all systems go. You’re saving up for a place, aren’t you, Iero?”

“Yes...” Frank replied, drawing out the vowel in suspicion. Frank was always saving, whether it was for a place of his own, a car, a new guitar or simply stocking up on money for future medical care. 

“How do you fancy earning time and a half for a couple of months?”

Frank sighed. He’d work a 60 hour week if he could amass that sort of cash, and good old Mr. Mason knew it. “What’s the catch, Gary?”

Gary Mason smiled apologetically before he spoke again, knowing it was impossible to pull the wool over Frank’s eyes. “The college kids are now going into revision and assignment period. They’re always the only people left in here when we close up, so I’ve decided to try weekday evening slots.”

Frank nodded. “Not a bad idea. And you want me to swap hours, right?”

“I need someone able enough to close up shop. I’ll still give you your 8 hour days, you’ll just start later, finish later. I’ll knock off your weekend shifts so you can just do Monday to Friday. And like I said, you’ll get time and a half for every hour past our regular closing.”

He was angling for Frank to take the offer, trying to make it sound as sweet as possible. It was hardly necessary; Gary had him at ‘time and a half’. Frank sighed, but it was good-natured, and he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face at the prospect of having that much money in a few short weeks. Perhaps summer wasn’t going to be such a drag after all. 

“I’m in. You know I’m in, Gary, so cut the shit. What are my hours?”

The look on his boss’s face was positively gleeful. “Well you can take the rest of today off, for a start. And then you can do Monday – Friday 3 ‘til 11 with 45 minutes paid break. That sound okay to you, kiddo?”

It sounded more than okay. That was 4 and a half hours of time and a half, five days a week. He could smell the paint in his new place already.


	2. Chapter 2

###  58 Days Until Hand In 

“Mikey, you can organise whatever the hell you want,” Gerard laughed down the phone, attempting single-handedly to check whether he’d tucked his wallet into his black canvas bag as he’d left the house. 

He was on his way to the university library to try and sweet-talk his way out of the book fees he’d somehow accumulated over the last couple of weeks. He had stayed up too late inking some of his work, and even though he’d only woken up about an hour ago he was still far too wiped to deal with the traditionally grumpy librarian without a hit of caffeine first. 

He knew there was a coffee joint around here somewhere, he could practically smell it, but he’d only been there a couple of times before and had forgotten the exact location. Whilst on his hunt his younger brother was chewing his ear off about the birthday celebrations Gerard had promised his mother he would return home for. 

“You serious?” Mikey exclaimed into his ear. “I can organise whatever the fuck I want and you won’t complain?”

“Fuckin’ go for it, man. I figure I’m gonna need the break after all the work I’m about to put myself through.”

“How’s that going?” Mikey asked. “Are you doing better now that you’re back in NY?”

Gerard wedged the phone between his ear and shoulder as he continued his quest for the missing wallet, trying to keep an eye on the street signs as he went, so as not to end up in this predicament again. 

“I can ink my comics fine when I’m back at the house. I mean, it’s not like I’m gonna lug my lightbox around everywhere, and I’m used to inking side by side with Joe anyway. It’s the other stuff I find difficult, you know?”

Gerard could tell that Mikey was nodding, even though he probably didn’t know what ‘the other stuff’ truly entailed. He huffed out a sigh and let go of his bag, defeated. Mikey made a questioning humming sound to which Gerard replied:  
“Can’t find my wallet.”

“Did you check your pocket?”

Gerard slapped a hand down to his jeans and rolled his eyes at himself.

“I’ll take your silence as a no,” Mikey replied with a smile in his voice. “Maybe you need to set yourself up somewhere else familiar to do the other stuff. I mean changing your surroundings all the time probably won’t help your focus right?” Gerard smiled at how Mikey always knew what he was talking about, even if it seemed like he shouldn’t. “I don’t know, pick yourself out a nice corner of the library or something.”

Gerard halted and turned down the adjacent street. 21st. He needed to remember that. 

“Yeah, maybe. Alright, Mikey, gotta go. Gotta see a man about some coffee.”

“I feel you. Shoot you a text when the plans are underway. Later.” 

*

It was weird. It was 3:10pm and Frank had only just started work. Usually he’d have already been here for 6 hours, sweating his ass off after the lunchtime rush and pining for home. Instead, he’d just rolled in and was clearing up the tables from the lunch slot he’d just missed. It was different, but he couldn’t yet say it was unwelcome. He hadn’t had to set his alarm for half 7 in the morning and had actually gone to bed when he wanted to the previous night, rather than just passing out and admitting defeat. 

Gary had told him Beth would be his evening co-worker, which lifted his spirits. They got on well and Frank could think of far worse employees to have been stuck with every evening. He assumed she was the only other employee to have agreed to the extended hours, especially as he knew she was saving up for her wedding.

Frank wasn’t sure how these evenings were going to go just yet. If they were crazy busy he might need to lean on Gary to either convince someone else to work the shift or advertise. For all he knew it might be a total flop, in which case his summer might go back to being disappointing before it had even began. He hoped that wasn’t the case. How would they even judge if it was worth it? How many customers would it take to top the money spent on keeping the place open for those extra few hours? He was glad that wasn’t his job to work out. 

“Iero, can I have a hand?” asked one of the boys. 

A queue had formed amidst Frank’s pondering, so he rushed back to the kitchen and handed his full trays to Beth to soak in the sink, and then keyed his code into the till.  
“Can I help anyone, please?”

Westside Cafeteria was mostly frequented by the students living and studying nearby. Most of them were art kids from SVA – sometimes visible by their strange sense of style and of course the massive sketchbooks that some of them carried under their arms. There were others of course, as well as the commuters grabbing a quick drink on their break. It wasn’t a bad place to work, all in all, or he wouldn’t have stuck around so long. 

“Um. Can I just have a latte to go, please?” his customer asked. 

“Sure.”

He rang up the price, taking the student’s money – he was a student, Frank was sure of it, he just couldn’t pin down the subject – and handing back the change. He turned to start the machine, looking back over his shoulder as he heard a phone ringing. His customer looked flustered as he dug for the phone in his pocket, brushing back dank strands of hair before he could rest the device against his ear. 

“Now’s not a good time, Mom.”

Frank smiled to himself and turned back to finish the drink. He slipped a cardboard holder around the take-out cup and turned back just as the guy was hanging up the phone. 

“Really, I’m fine, just ask Mikey. Okay. Later, Mom.”

He looked embarrassed as Frank handed him the coffee. “She worries,” he said lamely, by means of an explanation. 

“I think we all share that problem, man,” Frank grinned. “Oh,” he added, remembering the company line. “For your information, sir, we’re extending our opening hours from now until mid-May, so we’re now open until 11pm.” 

The customer looked considering, thanking Frank as he moved away to add sugar to his beverage. 

“Frank, I need some help with the fries,” called Beth from the kitchen. He had no idea how she managed to break that machine practically daily, but he was considering putting the idea to Gary that he ban her from it. 

“For the love of God, Bethan!”


	3. Chapter 3

###  57 Days Until Hand In 

“You heading out, G?” Joe called through from the kitchen. 

Joe Boyle was Gerard’s housemate for the year; an art student who’d befriended him after he’d noticed they’d chosen almost all the same modules throughout the course. They both loved comic books and cartooning above everything else, and had had spent many classes sat side by side with a lightbox. However, Gerard still preferred to be alone when planning and drawing. 

“Yeah, I’m gonna go sit somewhere and sketch, I think.”

“Ah right.” Joe was quite used to Gerard’s little quirks and eccentricities, and had more than enough of his own to respect them. “Hope you get a lot done. 57 days!”

Gerard groaned. He had no idea why Joe insisted on counting it down like that; it only made him anxious. 57 days sounded like all the time in the world, but Gerard knew better, considering just how much he needed to get done in that time. 

“I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

“I know,” Joe smiled down at his paper. 

Gerard bid him farewell and left the house with a sketchbook clutched to his side like a good old fashioned cliché. It was nice out, the sun beginning to disappear into the skyline and the air smelt like grass despite being in the middle of New York. He had thought that perhaps Mikey was right about creating himself a new space in which to work, and the only thing that had come to mind was the coffee shop on 21st. 

He was going to try out the evening hours and see how he liked it. A corner of the library would have been nice – air conditioned and silent – but the one killer was that food and drink weren’t permitted. That meant no coffee. If Gerard’s new workspace could be somewhere that had coffee on tap it would help to ease the stress slightly. 

He pushed open the door and scoped the room. Although it was a little humid, it smelt gorgeous and wasn’t obscenely busy, which already raised his hopes. From what Gerard could make out, the majority of the room’s occupants were also students, some he even recognised from his course. 

There was a thin girl with a shock of naturally red hair in the corner, pouring over her own sketchbook and looking far more stressed out than anyone he had come across yet. As Gerard crossed to the counter he passed a muscular boy with a frown seemingly built into his face. Gerard wouldn’t have penned him as an art student in a million years if he hadn’t caught a glance at the guy’s expensive-looking laptop, on which he was editing photographs. His mouth quirked up in a faint smile as he realised muscular man’s frown was a sign of concentration rather than brutishness. 

The boy at the counter looked pretty relaxed for a cafe worker, wiping up the counter and giving Gerard a smile when he looked up. It might have been the same boy who served him yesterday but he hadn’t paid enough attention to the boy’s features to be sure. 

“Hi, how can I help?” 

“Just a black coffee, please,” Gerard requested, remembering to check his pocket for his wallet first, as opposed to his bag. 

“Managed to get your Mom off your case?” the boy asked, confirming to Gerard that it was indeed the same employee. 

He flushed a little before he could help himself. “Yeah, for now. You know how it is.”

“I do,” the boy laughed as he poured the coffee into a fresh mug. “I’m an only child, so my Mom gets pretty freaked at the idea of her little boy working in the big bad city. You’d think she’d be used to it by now.”

Gerard would have replied that his situation was the same, just with an added sibling, but he was willing to guess that this boy hadn’t basically isolated himself from most people for the good part of 10 years. He smiled timidly instead and thanked him for the coffee, scouting out which table he’d like while he added his sugar.


	4. Chapter 4

###  56 Days Until Hand In 

Frank hip-checked Beth out of the way so that he could open the fridge and get out a new cake for the counter display. She whipped him with a tea towel in response. He’d only worked this shift twice so far but he was already beginning to see that midway through the night the students decided they were a little bit peckish, or more accurately in need of a sugar boost. Coffee with added syrup and a slice of cake were the best choices to satiate this particular craving, so Frank laid out his favourite sponge, incidentally the most expensive. 

“That’ll bring in the doe,” he grinned at his colleague. 

“You just want them to have the best cake, you old softie.” 

He couldn’t deny she was right. But in the back of his mind he was aware that they had to make sure Gary still saw this shift as worthwhile. Now that Frank had had a couple of days to think about it, he was more attached to the idea of time and a half than he thought. Gary had warned him it would probably be a bit slow for the first week or so, just while people were still finding out about the change in opening hours, and that it would pick up soon enough. He hoped this was the case. 

It pleased him to already see the beginnings of regular customers; the frazzled redhead in the corner, the muscular laptop dude. Those were the people he needed to make sure his niche was still open. He and Beth had already made the executive decision to provide evening meals for anyone who wanted it. They would just assure the day workers that they’d clean the ovens when it was quiet later on and keep serving up fries and hot sandwiches until about 9-ish. No problem. 

The bell above the door tinkled as someone opened it, and Frank was happy to see yet another regular here for the evening shift. He’d turned up the previous night looking a little dubious but Frank had slyly noticed him scribbling an awful lot in that massive sketchbook of his, so he had obviously got at least some work done. The guy had chosen one of the booths for his seat the previous night, needing the extra table space to lay out his paper and materials. 

“Third day in a row,” Frank beamed at the guy in greeting. “Have we got you in the bag?”

The student laughed, perhaps a little more loudly than necessary. He had shaggy dark brown hair, not of a length to be described as full on ‘long hair’, but Frank was willing to lay a bet that it was the sort of hairstyle his older family members would bug him about cutting. He also had quite prominent sideburns, the sort that Frank was quite sure were going out of fashion, but managed to not look entirely ridiculous on the man. He dressed all in black, and wore clumpy boots that thudded on their wooden tiling. 

“I think you might. Black coffee, please.”

“Oh, are you a student?” Frank asked redundantly, having forgotten the past two days. “If I scan your student card in you get 10% off.”

“Oh!” The guy’s eyes positively lit up, and the velcro of his wallet loudly scratched apart as he tore it open to search for the card in question. “Here.”

Frank checked over the details on the front before scanning the barcode on the back and ringing up the price change. He passed the card back before moving to pour the coffee. 

“I figured you were SVA from the sketchbook,” he smiled as he took the guy’s money – Gerard Way, it had said on the card, born the same year as him –and handed over the mug. 

“Yeah, it’s a bit of a giveaway,” Gerard smiled, tucking his card back into one of the slits in his wallet. “Thanks.”

Gerard made his way back over to the same booth at the back and Frank turned to Beth, high-fiving her before picking up a cloth to go clean up another table.


	5. Chapter 5

###  48 Days Until Hand In 

Gerard was happier than he’d felt in a long while, which he hadn’t really expected to happen during the crazy assignment period. He’d expected to be stressed out of his mind and panicking like a motherfucker, but although he still groaned every time Joe reminded him how many days they had left, he was actually feeling on top of things. 

It was quite frankly a relief to have found somewhere that he could sit and draw happily, and he had called his mother a few days previously to reassure her as such. That’s not to say that he hadn’t had a couple of nights whereby he’d sat and simply doodled, pulling out his walkman and just sort of chilling out. But the work he did on the other nights more than made up for a little bit of concentration lapse/procrastination. 

He would ink in the mornings to mid-afternoon, have a bit of relaxation time late afternoon-early evening, watching a movie and making some dinner, and then he’d head off to Westside Cafeteria until closing. It was more organised than he’d ever been in his life, he wagered. 

The coffee shop had got steadily busier during their evening shifts. The tables were mostly full now, as opposed to the first night he’d been when only about 5 were occupied besides his own. As Gerard pushed open the door, there were even two people in front of him in the queue. The boy – Frank, his nametag said - was taking the orders, and his female colleague was programming the coffee machine. Gerard popped his earbuds in for the short wait, fitting in an Iron Maiden song before he took his turn at the counter and Frank smiled at him. 

The boy’s hair always seemed to be messed up from the heat, dark hair that had grown out and strayed onto his forehead. He usually wore a dark t-shirt to work, a short apron tied around his waist and covering the thighs of his jeans, so there didn’t seem to be a uniform as long as the clothes the employees chose were relatively plain. A tattoo of a star decorated his forearm towards the inside of his elbow and a ring of words in red ink linked around the opposite wrist, although Gerard had never worked out what it said. 

“Black coffee to start?” Frank smiled, already reaching for a mug.

Gerard nodded, smiling. Frank had obviously already memorised Gerard’s general pattern of ordering. Gerard had frequented dozens of coffee places as he’d grown up, but this was the first where the barista had remembered his order. He handed over his student card for Frank to scan. 

“So, can I call you by your name? I mean, you’re a regular, and I see your name every day on your card, so.”

“Sure, Frank,” Gerard grinned in response. “I see yours on your name tag.”

Frank smiled widely and scanned in the card. “Oh! And this is Beth. She always gets stuck with me on the evening shift.”

Gerard waved at the girl and said hi, taking his coffee and change. He turned to walk to his table of choice, and was strangely heartbroken to see that it was piled up with dirty cups and plates on a couple of trays. Before he could even turn around to sheepishly ask one of them to clear it up, Frank had already come around the counter, wet cloth in hand and tea towel slung over his shoulder.

“It looked kind of busy in here earlier. I didn’t want someone to take your booth,” Frank explained. 

Gerard was sort of touched that Frank had made his table uninhabitable by anyone else, and followed him happily over to the booth while Frank piled everything up and wiped down the tabletop. Without the barrier of a counter between them Gerard could see just how short Frank really was in relation to himself. It was sort of sickeningly adorable. 

“So, I realise you’re an art student,” Frank began, wiping crumbs off the table to catch in his hand, sprinkling into one of the dirty cups. “- but what’s your actual degree?”

“Bachelor of Fine Arts,” Gerard replied. It still made him feel a little silly to say, as if he was being a pompous asshole or something, even though he clearly wasn’t. “I major in cartooning, though.”

“No shit? That’s rad. Like animation? Or is that something different?”

“More like comics.”

That seemed to catch Frank’s attention and when he looked up the next time he had an even wider smile on his face somehow. “That’s really cool, I’m not gonna lie. I’m not exactly a comic connoisseur or anything, but I read a couple here and there, so I can appreciate.”

“Oh yeah?”

It was always a good day when Gerard could tell someone what he was majoring in and be met with enthusiasm rather than an incredulous snort. Unless you actively read them, people didn’t understand just how difficult making comics could really be. They see some warped cartoon doodles and a couple of lines of dialogue in a panel and scoff, thinking _I could do that._ Gerard doubted that people really understood just how frustrating it was to narrow down all that needed to be said and communicated just into that doodle’s body language and a couple of lines of speech. 

“Superman’s alright, not quite to my taste though. Batman’s the best, Spiderman’s the worst.”

Gerard grinned, thinking about how similar Frank’s opinion of comics was to his brother’s. 

“Frank, the fries!” came Beth’s voice from the other side of the shop. 

Frank smacked his head dramatically onto the tabletop, before straightening and re-wiping the spot his forehead has tarnished. 

“I have no fucking idea how she manages to break it so often,” he groaned good-naturedly, giving Gerard a smile before hefting up the tall pile of china and heading back to the kitchen.


	6. Chapter 6

###  44 Days Until Hand In 

Frank held the thermometer into the glass display unit and craned his head to see the reading on the screen, his biro poised on the paperwork to his right. 

“What are you doing?” came Gerard’s voice from above him. Frank startled, and narrowly escaped smacking his head.

“Give me a minute would you? I’m doing the temperature check. Don’t want the cake to curdle.”

“Is that even possible?”

“According to my boss.” He lifted his head out of the counter and drew his eyebrows together. “Hey, I know it’s a Monday, but what’s the date?”

Gerard sighed, and told Frank in a pained voice, as if reciting lines from a play he’d been studying solidly for 6 months. “44 days; Monday 5th April 1999.”

“Got it,” he said gratefully, scribbling down 3°C next to the date Gerard had detailed. “44 days until what?”

Gerard groaned again, passing his student card over to Frank before he asked for it. “Until my final portfolio is due.”

“Ah, you in last year?” Frank asked as he ran the red scanning laser over the back. 

“Yep. Not long to go now.”

“What then?” Frank asked, chatting easily as he poured Gerard’s coffee as always. 

“Who the hell knows. Dark Horse have a position coming up, I was considering selling out and applying to draw Spiderman for them.”

Frank pulled a face as he rung up the usual price and scooped out the change. Gerard held the coffee in his hand as he waited for him to come around the other side and clean up the booth. Frank figured he may as well do that every night from now on. He knew that the booths were the most popular in places like this, but realistically it was the only table on which Gerard could spread out his supplies. He wasn’t about to let a journalism student come and take up the whole booth with just a tiny little notebook while they sip delicately on their espresso. It would just be plain rude. 

“Nah, I understand, you’ve gotta make a living. I’m sure you draw Spiderman just fine. It’s not like you’ll be the one penning his whining little monologues, right?”

“No,” Gerard laughed “just drawing the outlines.” 

“That’s alright then.” 

Frank had piled the booth up a little too much today apparently, so he carried one tray through to the kitchen and dipped his cloth into the sink again before he returned. 

“You’re not a student, then?” Gerard hedged. “I mean it’d be pretty hard with these working hours.” 

Frank’s chest hollowed slightly, as he wiped more vigorously at the table. “Nah. Used to be. A while back. Dropped out halfway through first year.”

“Oh.” Gerard sounded a little sheepish as he said it, flicking a stray crumb onto the floor. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I’m not. Or at least, I wasn’t at the time. Now I’m not so sure.” 

Frank shot Gerard a smile in reassurance. He didn’t mind talking about it. He just sort of hadn’t in a long time, that’s all. Gerard looked curious, but reluctant to ask, so Frank figured he’d save him the misery. Shooting a glance towards the counter, seeing that Beth was bored enough to have picked up her book, he figured they were quiet enough for him to take a bit of time. He sat down at the booth, urging Gerard to do the same. 

“See, I’m a bit of a cliché.” Frank began as Gerard looked at him interestedly over the rim of his coffee cup. “You may have guessed that my life’s ambition has not been to feed the caffeine addiction of helpless art students. I’m one of those terrible people who come to New York looking for their big break. I dropped out, quit my job back home and upped sticks to NY. Not that I moved particularly far. I only lived in Jersey before.”

“Me too,” Gerard grinned. Frank was happy to discover he was talking to another Jersey kid. There was something about home and the people who lived there that just made him feel instantly more relaxed. 

“Well anyway. Yeah, I used to study at Rutgers. English Lit, nothing special really. My Mom wanted me to get a degree, didn’t matter what in, and I mean, it’s a good idea; it’s a good thing to have. But my heart was never in it. She knew that, but expected I’d stick it out long enough to graduate. So did I, really.” He smoothed down his hair, huffing out a breath before he continued. This was the only part that hurt. “I was always in bands. Always, since I was like 11. Playing guitar and being in bands was my thing, you know? My escape from big bad reality. They usually fell apart relatively quickly; no one was ever quite as into it as I was. But when I hit my late teens, I started another one up with some close friends, and this time it actually stuck. We were together for ages.” The past tense made him wince. “We made our own songs – good ones – played a bunch of shows and stuff. Eventually a local label picked us up, and we recorded our first record while we were still in high school. It went down really well, for an indie label, and within 6 months or so we were getting calls from the big labels, you know, the fucking big ones.”

Gerard had rested his chin in his hand and was nodding along attentively to Frank’s words. Frank hadn’t meant to ramble quite this much, but it had been so long since he’d told someone that he found it really difficult to stop. He wet his lips quickly before continuing.

“And this was our chance, our chance to really do what we loved. So we leapt. We waited for a label to give us the right offer and we jumped ship, got out of our other contract and piled together all our money to move states. I dropped out pretty much as soon as we signed on the dotted line. I didn’t think I needed it anymore.”

“It didn’t work out,” Gerard surmised, his tone sad. 

“No,” Frank murmured. “They signed us too quick. We were relatively big in Jersey, but the buzz hadn’t quite crossed the pond yet. No one here knew who we were, and even our supporters in Jersey didn’t usually make the trip to see our shows. They promised us another recording slot, and that all went to shit. We were making next to nothing, they weren’t putting out our old record on their label yet, and our shows were pitiful. We were sucking money from the label rather than putting more back in, so they dropped us after about a year. Everything was so shit that we’d started fighting, our drummer had been threatening to leave for months, and we were having”- Frank raised both hands to make quotation marks in the air – “- ‘creative differences’. We split. They gave us no choice. We ended up in a worse position financially than when we started out, and we all had to go slinking back home, dreams crushed.” He shrugged, trying to make the memories hurt less. “I commute now. I work whenever I can, trying to save up the money to start again.”

Gerard finished his coffee and added his mug to the tray left on the table. “You still want to try?” he asked. 

Frank jerked a shoulder again. Did he? He wasn’t even sure anymore. Nothing would ever stop him loving music, but he couldn’t see himself being in a band again, not really. He missed playing the shows, but he didn’t miss the politics of it all. It hurt to remember how the label casually tossed them aside after they’d burnt all bridges with their indie. There was no way back from that, not for Pencey Prep. 

“I dunno. I love music. I still write songs, and play my guitar and stuff. I made up with a couple of guys from the band and we jam every once in a while, but it’s not the same. It’ll never be the same. We’d never be able to take that chance again.” 

“That’s really sad,” Gerard said. His eyebrows tightened slightly, as if Frank had just told him the most tragic tale that had ever been penned. It only served to make Frank burst into laughter. 

“And you’re more fucking soft than I am,” he smiled, standing to take the tray. “Just keep coming in and buying my coffee, okay? Think of it as a charitable donation.” 

“As if you could keep me away,” Gerard smiled.

Frank lifted the tray and Gerard flopped his sketchbook onto the empty space it left behind.


	7. Chapter 7

###  42 Days Until Hand In 

Gerard was a little late getting to Westside. He’d got really stuck into inking one of his favourite parts and then Joe had offered to make them both dinner, so it was gone 8pm by the time he rolled into the cafe that evening. Frank looked like he was almost relieved, huffing out a mock-sigh.

“Where on earth have you been?” Frank asked as he started ringing up Gerard’s order before he’d even made it halfway across the room. “I had some chick pestering me for the booth earlier and I had to make some lame-ass excuse to stop her moving the cups and shit herself.”

“Sorry, my housemate made me dinner,” he replied as he inwardly wondered why he was even apologising. “I got a lot of inking done today.”

Frank’s answering smile was almost proud. “Hey, that’s awesome. Why don’t you ever do any of that in here?”

Gerard went through the regular ritual of handing over both his card and the money.

“Because it’s easier to use this thing called a lightbox, and it’s pretty fucking heavy to lug around, that’s all. I sometimes hash out rough panels while I’m here and then do it properly in the morning,” he elaborated.

“Can I see your stuff some time?” Frank asked warily.

Gerard assumed that he was up on the etiquette whereby most artists guard their sketchbook with their life, hence the worried glance as he’d asked. Gerard was usually just the same, which is why he found it so difficult being at home when he drew. However, he didn’t feel this sort of anxiety towards Frank; probably because he held similar opinions of comics to Mikey. He’d show Mikey anything, so why not to this friendly barista who had practically shared his life story with him?

“Sure,” he smiled, surprised by how easily it rolled off his tongue.

As Frank handed him both his change and coffee, reaching to grab his cloth as per usual Gerard heard a voice pipe up behind him.

“Gerard?”

When he turned, Gerard was face to face with his ex, whom he hadn’t seen in several months. “...Bert.”

Neither of them were sure how to proceed from there and simply stood studying each other in a mixture of relief and wariness. Bert’s blue eyes were cold when they regarded him, even as they looked hopeful, and Gerard felt that old heat ignite treacherously in his chest. Bert’s hair was longer and he’d grown a beard, but he’d lost a little weight, cheekbones razor sharp, mouth just as inviting as it always was. Gerard was grateful when Frank stepped in, leaning forward and catching Bert’s eye.

“Can I help?”

Bert dragged his eyes away and also looked grateful as he ordered his drink. “Double espresso.”  
Gerard hoped Frank didn’t begrudge Bert for the missing ‘please’, as it was probably his fault that it wasn’t there in the first place. When Bert pointedly kept his gaze on Frank rather than Gerard, he meandered over to the sugar stand, retrieving an extra stirrer while he was there. 

*

Frank handed over the guy’s drink – he gathered his name was Bert, from Gerard’s utterance – and gave him a smile for extra measure. He looked like he needed it. 

“Thanks,” the customer mumbled as he took the drink, having remembered his manners now. 

Frank shot Gerard a quizzical look, and hesitantly picked up his cloth. Gerard flicked his eyes up briefly at him, and moved back toward the counter.

“Frank, could you come clean up the booth for us, please? ...Bert?”

Still avoiding his gaze, Bert nodded shortly and followed Gerard over to the booth, shoulders hunched and eyes directed at the floor. Frank darted back into the kitchen to grab a fresh tea towel and shrugged when Beth asked:  
“What the hell was that?”

He didn’t make small talk with Gerard as he cleaned up the booth today, merely did it quickly and efficiently, making himself scarce as soon as possible so as Gerard could offer a seat to his acquaintance. 

“Thank you, Frank,” he said softly as he sat. 

Frank went back to the counter, finding Beth already lingering and trying to watch surreptitiously. He joined her. 

*

“So, you’ve got the coffee boy wrapped around your little finger, huh?” Bert said, both mournfully and bitterly as he sampled his beverage.

“It’s not - ”Gerard began, breaking off and sighing. “I’m a regular, that’s all.”

“Huh,” Bert harrumphed. “I’ll know to stay away then.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Gerard replied quietly, staring at the dark shimmer of his drink. 

They sat in silence for a minute or so, sneaking glances at one another and trying not to sigh, from both the awkwardness and the regret. 

“Are you...okay?” Gerard tried.

“...I guess. You?”

“42 days until hand-in,” he said, trying on a grimace.

Bert looked up from his drink, fixing Gerard with a glare. “I’ve got 35.”

“My deepest condolences.”

Neither of them could quite hide their smiles at that one, and all at once the atmosphere got a little less tight between them. 

“...I’m sorry” Gerard said, looking Bert in the eyes levelly. 

“...I know.” 

*

Shortly after the Bert guy got up and left, Gerard left his sketchbook on the booth table and brought the two used cups up to the counter. His gaze was almost apologetic, even though Frank knew he didn’t really merit an apology of any kind. He took the mugs thankfully, and popped them in the sink before coming back around.

“I think I need a pick-me-up,” Gerard said, eying the menu above Frank’s head consideringly. 

He didn’t look particularly broken or anything, so Frank judged it safe enough to ask. 

“So who was that?”

Gerard seemed to startle a little. When he flicked his gaze back down to Frank’s face he looked mildly uncomfortable. He opened his mouth once or twice to speak, but thought better of it, before rolling his eyes at himself and coming out with it. 

“He’s my ex.”

Frank’s eyes bugged out of his head before he could help himself. Whoa. Fucking whoa. 

“Whoa, you’re gay?” He said the last word in a sort of harsh whisper, and Gerard frowned a little. 

“Problem?”

Frank shook his head; more to clear his mind than to insist no. “I- I guess not. I didn’t peg you, that’s all.”

“Sorry for not conforming to your stereotype,” Gerard said tightly, looking back up at the menu. 

It was all coming out wrong and Frank sort of wished they could start this part of the conversation again. He just hadn’t expected Gerard to be gay. He didn’t dress weird, or speak in that feminine sort of way that a lot of gay men tended to. He just looked like Gerard, and... whoa. 

“I’m sorry,” he got out eventually. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I’ve never met anyone gay before.”

“You just _think_ you haven’t,” Gerard said, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Frank took this as a sign that Gerard wasn’t overly offended, and this relieved him. “I’ll have a cinnamon latte,” he added. 

“Sure,” Frank said, relieved that he knew how this part worked. He set the machine for latte and rung up the order, holding out a hand for Gerard’s student card. 

“So,” Frank started, eager to try again as he uncapped the syrup. “Your ex? How long?”

“A few months last year,” Gerard replied, his sigh mournful. “I...I hurt him, I guess. I was a total asshole before I went home for Christmas, and I ignored all his calls when I got back.”

“Oh,” Frank replied, understanding it was inappropriate to ask why. “Did you meet him in class, or?”

“No, he goes somewhere else. He does fashion,” he smiled, in that way that Frank could tell he wasn’t quite over the guy. Frank wasn’t even aware that he’d pulled a face until Gerard laughed and replied “Not in _that_ way. Like...he does really awesome stuff. Sleeveless shirts for girls cut in the shape of a skull and stuff.”

“Oh,” Frank said, surprised, nodding approvingly. “That sounds really cool, actually.”

“Yeah, he’s gonna do great,” Gerard replied, looking down at the froth on his drink, smiling sadly to himself. 

“Could you... make it up, or whatever?”

“I don’t know,” Gerard murmured, shooting Frank a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, cutting off conversation by going back to his booth.


	8. Chapter 8

###  40 Days Until Hand In 

“What the hell do you mean you got a comic published?” Frank asked, hand pausing just as he was about to pour Gerard’s coffee. “When the hell was this?”

“I was 16,” Gerard laughed. “It got cancelled after two issues and they credited me as Garry.”

The memory was embarrassing but he’d known that Frank would appreciate it, having expressed an interest in his comics before. 

“Hey, that’s my boss’s name,” Frank grinned as he finally got around to pouring the drink. He looked up, considering, nose scrunched up. “You don’t look like a Garry.” 

“Well, thanks,” Gerard laughed, reaching out to hand Frank his money and card as usual. 

Frank rang up the coffee and scanned in the card, but when he handed it back, it was with the same amount of money Gerard had given him. Gerard looked down at his hand and held up the note again. “Forget something, genius?”

“No,” Frank grinned, wiping his hands on his apron. After a couple of beats he looked a little unsure. “Wait, it’s the 9th, right?”

“Yes...” Gerard replied, dragging out the vowel. 

“Good.” Frank reached into the counter and put a slice of cake with a pathetic stub of a candle wedged in the top. “Then happy birthday; it’s on the house.” 

Gerard barked out a quick laugh, looking up at Frank in gratitude. “Thanks, Franks.”

“No problem. I read your birthday on that card five days a week. It’d be pretty lame if I forgot.”

The short man practically skipped around to the other side of the counter to go and clean the booth. 

“I’m not allowed to light the candle, by the way. Health and safety. I could sing if you like, though.”

“I think I’m okay. But seriously, thank you.”

“I half expected you not to come in. Assumed you’d be having some wild party or something.”

“That’s for the weekend. Heading home to see my family. My brother’s organised something. Fuck knows what.”

“That’ll be fun then,” Frank grinned before heaving the tray. “Enjoy.”

Gerard watched him leave with a similar grin on his face, and inwardly cursed himself, slumping into the booth and pulling a corner of the cake off with one hand while he fumbled for his phone with the other. He opened up his inbox and scrolled to the happy birthday message his brother had sent earlier that morning. 

**Mikey I think I hav a crush on my barista**

He hit send and pulled out his sketchbook, flipping to one of the pages he’d dedicated for doodles, scratching an angular umbrella into one corner while he waited for the reply. 

**Y do u hav a lawyer? Shud I tell mom?**

A little laugh escaped out loud before he could help it. 

**A coffee barista, u idiot**

He tore off another couple bites of cake. It was really good. Perhaps Frank had given it to him just so he’d become addicted and shell out for a piece every night. He must know it was that good.

**O. I assume he strait?**

**They usually fukken r** Gerard typed straight back, sneaking a glance up to the counter, where Frank was chasing Beth with washing-up-foam-covered hands. He tapped out another one, knowing that there was nothing Mikey could reply to that that would make him feel better. **C u 2morro xo**


	9. Chapter 9

###  37 Days Until Hand In 

Frank brewed up a fresh pot of slightly stronger coffee when Gerard came in looking a little sorry for himself. Beth had frowned at him a little until he pointed out how many customers they’d had already that evening. They could more than afford it. 

“Thank you,” Gerard enthused, sucking down half the cup still stood at the counter whilst the drink was presumably still scalding. 

“Heavy weekend, I take it?” Frank smirked, opting not to move towards the booth just yet. 

Gerard shuddered, and Frank wasn’t sure whether he was joking or being serious. 

“I haven’t partied that hard in a fucking long time. I knew it was dangerous letting Mikey organise everything.”

“You still haven’t recovered?”

“Nm mm,” Gerard mumbled as he drained his mug holding it out for Frank. He poured in some more, amused. “Too many shots, too little sleep. It was fun, don’t get me wrong, but I’m kind of glad to be back here.”

Frank smiled, before inwardly scolding himself that Gerard meant that he was glad to be back in NY, not specifically back at Westside. He tucked Gerard’s money into the till and they made their way to the booth.

“Will you even get any work done with this hangover?”

“Probably not,” Gerard groaned, and lifted his other arm to communicate that he hadn’t even brought his sketchbook. “I wanted to see you.”

Frank’s heart leapt embarrassingly and he busied himself by wiping down the tabletop.   
“Oh?” he choked out. 

“I needed to tell someone. Mikey and Joe don’t get it, so there’d be no point telling them.” He reached out and gripped Frank’s forearm, fingers closing incidentally over the star. Frank looked up, eyes startled and breath heavy. “Bert called.”

Frank’s lungs exhaled in a gust of air and he subtly tried to take back his arm. “Oh, right. ...You guys gonna work things out then?”

“Maybe,” Gerard said, clearly nervous with the prospect. “We’re going out. That’s why I came in; to tell you I won’t be around tomorrow night.”

Frank was positively furious with himself when he felt his spirits droop. 

“Okay. Um. Good luck, I guess,” he said tightly, forcing a smile when he lifted the tray. “See you Wednesday?” He hated the sound of casual desperation in his tone. 

“Of course,” Gerard smiled, eyes weary but sincere, as if Frank needn’t ever doubt it. 

As he slid the cups into the washing up water, Frank gripped the side of the sink and blinked repeatedly, a little taken aback by whatever the fuck was going on with him. 

“Frankie?” came Beth’s timid voice from around the corner. She was a little wary to disrupt him whilst he was clearly having a moment. Frankly, he welcomed the intrusion. “The fryer.” 

“Thank fuck,” he said to himself, eager to go and deal with something he was used to.


	10. Chapter 10

###  35 Days Until Hand In 

It had been a pretty unproductive night. Gerard had spent the majority of his evening at Westside talking to Beth and Frank as opposed to actually getting any work done. His brain was darting off in a million directions and it was hard to pin himself down to work on something for longer than 5 minutes, so he’d pretty much given up. That, and he was now on his 6th or 7th coffee of the evening, whereas he usually had two or three. He was more than a little jittery and Beth had been quite happy to point this out to him several times, musing that perhaps they should cut him off at four. 

Beth’s shift wasn’t as long as Frank’s, so he was always left to close up on his own. It had gotten to that point in the evening now, and Frank had literally done nothing but talk to Gerard for an hour or more. Frank was now sipping on his own cappuccino at the booth and had taken his apron off, dumping it on the table. 

“Gerard, you’ve been avoiding telling me all fucking night, it’s getting a little ridiculous,” Frank laughed. “How did it go with Bert?” he asked for the umpteenth time.

Gerard couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across his face. He turned away in attempt to conceal his flush, noticing that they were the only two left in the shop by now, and shrugged, swilling the coffee dregs around the bottom of his mug. Frank had apparently noticed too, when he practically shouted his next question, collapsing into laughter afterwards. 

“Did you fuck?”

Reaching over, Gerard smacked him playfully on the arm. “Oh my God. Yes, okay? Yes.” 

Frank beamed and prodded Gerard in the side in retaliation. “Aww nicely done, hotshot. I’m happy for you.” 

“Well, thanks.”

Resting his chin in his hand Frank looked contemplative. “I can’t imagine fucking a dude. Is it good?”

“I wouldn’t do it if it wasn’t,” Gerard giggled awkwardly, a little more embarrassed than he figured he should be. “I mean, it’s different, obviously, but you get used to it. It’s sort of an acquired taste.” 

“Mmm,” Frank said whilst he took another gulp of coffee. “See, people say that to me about wine, but I’ve never stuck it out long enough to find out.”

The retort that would have rolled off the tongue easiest would be to suggest that Frank try it for himself, but it felt far too suggestive, especially considering they were alone, not to mention that inwardly his remaining feelings for Bert and his budding crush on Frank were having a bit of a battle. He held it back. Thankfully Frank jumped in with another overly personal question.

“Do you top or bottom?”

“I do both,” Gerard said easily. 

This was one question, albeit personal, that he always liked to answer without hesitation. Amongst those Gerard came across who neither knew anyone gay and/or were militantly straight themselves, there was this stereotypical assumption that you could only be one or the other, and that assumption was usually based on the misguided notion that one of them had to ‘be the girl’. A particularly backward notion, if Gerard said so himself. 

“There aren’t set roles, you know? I bottomed last night,” he said, with another flush, shifting on his seat and remembering. 

“Oh, really?” Frank asked, sounding a little shocked. “I mean...you’re not walking funny or anything.”

“Oh my God,” Gerard laughed smacking his forehead with his hand. “Please stop.” 

“Okay, okay,” Frank conceded, holding out his palms in defeat. “But I’m glad things went well. Sincerely.”

They smiled at each other for a moment, until Gerard became a little panicked by the silence.   
“You know, you always smell like grease.”

He had absolutely no fucking idea where that had come from and immediately wished he could take it back. To his relief, Frank seemed to find this hilarious, pulling his shirt out and raising a section to his nose.

“Probably because I have to practically climb inside the fucking fryer every day when Beth damn near breaks it. I have no fucking idea how she does it.”

“It’s nice,” Gerard said absent-mindedly. “Familiar.”

“Yeah.”

He wasn’t sure whether Frank was referring to the grease or Beth’s mind-blowing propensity to break down their machinery, but he supposed it didn’t really matter. 

“Hey, I think I should have your number,” Frank said, casually. “You’ve been coming in for like a month and I’d like to see whether we can function as friends outside of this coffee shop scenario.”

23 days to be precise. Gerard’s heart danced around in his chest a little bit at the prospect that Frank considered them friends, even though there wasn’t really any other term that would be applicable. 

“Uh, sure,” he smiled, reaching into his pocket to grab his phone to programme Frank’s in. He hit the star key to unlock and was about to thumb through to the contacts when he caught sight of the time. “Frankie, it’s 11:45,” he blanched. 

“Jesus shit!” Frank cried, immediately jumping to his feet. “We were supposed to close almost an hour ago!”

They reached a non-verbal agreement that they would clean up together, as Frank collected up all of the dirty cups and Gerard went around with the cloth. Frank would have been here at least another hour if he had to do it himself, so Gerard thought it only polite that he pitch in, seeing as he was the reason Frank was behind in the first place. 

As Frank grabbed a scouring pad and stuck his head in the oven, Gerard casually put an idea to him.   
“Hey, it’s gonna be ages until you get home. Why don’t you stay at mine tonight? I’m only a 10 minute walk away.”

Frank pulled his head out, a smudge of orange grease already adorning his cheek, and looked thoughtful for a minute, before nodding. “Sure. Thanks.” 

Gerard was strangely relieved, as if he’d expected Frank to balk at the mere suggestion. He rolled back the sleeves on his dark hoodie before plunging his hands into the sink to start washing up. Frank got to his feet, sinking his own hands in briefly to wash the grease off. 

Skimming a hand over Gerard’s back as he moved, Frank crossed the room to pick up the cafe phone. He punched in a number he knew off by heart and leant against the wall, twirling the cable around his fingers. Gerard turned back to the dishes, listening absently.

“Hey, Mom.” There was a pause – presumably his mother asking where he was and why he was late. “No, I know. It’s taking a little longer to close up tonight, so I’m gonna stay at Beth’s okay? ...Yeah, I will. See you tomorrow. Love you too.”

He hung up and crossed to the oven again, kneeling before he spoke.   
“Sorry about that. If I tell her I’m going home with someone she’s never met - a customer, at that – she’d have freaked.”

Gerard smiled to himself, a little dizzy at how good it sounded that Frank was coming home with him.   
“No, I understand.”

“Let’s finish up and get out of here.” 

*

It took them another half an hour to finish and lock up, so by the time they got to Gerard’s place it was almost 1am and Frank was very glad he’d taken Gerard up on his offer. Joe was still up, so they didn’t have to creep, but Frank had agreed to leave in the morning before Gerard started inking, so they headed straight for his bedroom. 

“I have a sleeping bag and some spare pillows you can use. Uhh, so, you can take my bed and I’ll take the couch, or I can make you up a bed on the floor...?”

Frank took mercy on Gerard’s nervous glance and bravely decided to opt for the choice no one was mentioning. He regarded Gerard’s double bed steadily. “Top and tail?”

Gerard’s answer was a quick easy grin, and Frank was sure he’d made the right decision. He stood back and took the opportunity to look over Gerard’s home away from home while the bed was being made up for the two of them. He had several old VHS and a couple of relatively new DVDs lined up along one wall, mostly in either the sci-fi or fantasy genres, with a couple of musicals dotted around. There was a book shelf piled up with battered novels and pristine comics, showing clearly which he prided over the other. There were a couple of posters – A Clockwork Orange and Buffy The Vampire Slayer – and when Gerard gestured grandly to the bed, Frank’s eyes fell immediately to the duvet cover. Empire Strikes Back. He lifted his face in a grin.

“You gonna go see the new one next month?”

“Uh huh, of course,” came Gerard’s quick reply. “I mean, I’m not expecting it to be as good as the originals, but I’m really interested to see how they treat it, what with all the CGI and everything.”

“Plus, that racing scene looks hella cool,” Frank agreed enthusiastically.

“I’m not sure how I feel about Lucas whoring out the franchise, but I’ve gotta give him the benefit of the doubt, you know?”

Frank could tell that Gerard was a die-harder when it came to Star Wars, and it made him smile that he was a geek of many mediums. They stood staring at each other for a couple of minutes. Frank shifted uneasily on his feet, and when Gerard still didn’t understand, Frank flicked his eyes to the bed and back a couple of times.

“Oh!” Gerard cried, turning around and busying himself at the desk.

Frank wasn’t quite sure whether it was polite to strip right down, but he did so anyway, removing each of his layers apart from his boxer shorts, laying them neatly at the foot of the bed. He crawled into the bottom, pulling it up to his waist before clearing his throat lightly.

Gerard turned, casual as anything, as if he hadn’t just been messing scrap papers around on his desk while he was waiting for Frank to cover his modesty. He had a couple of comic books in his hand. He handed them over to Frank with a smile, hair falling into his eyes.

“What’s this, bedtime reading?”All the jokes ceased as soon as Frank skimmed over the front. _‘On Raven’s Wings’ by Garry Way._ “Oh my god.” He ran a hand over the front cover, slipping a finger under the first page.

“Not now!” Gerard cried. When Frank looked up at him questioningly he was met by a sheepish curve of the lips. “Please. Take them. I’ll get them back from you tomorrow night, okay?”

Frank nodded and leant over, tucking them into his bag underneath his clothes. In all honesty he wanted to devour them right that second, but he respected Gerard’s wishes and tampered the urge down. Gerard looked at him curiously as he retrieved what Frank assumed were a pair of pyjamas from underneath the pillow. 

“Oh hey,” he said distractedly. “You have another tattoo.”

Frank looked down at his chest, as if he’d never noticed it there before. “Yeah.”

“The Souls” Gerard smiled appreciatively. “You really are a Jersey boy.”

“’Til the day I die.”

At that, Frank settled down and turned his head on the pillow, facing the opposite direction as Gerard changed.

“Hey, we were born the same year, right?” Gerard asked.

“Yeah?”

“Where’d you go to school? You weren’t at Belleville High.”

“Well observed. Nah, my Mom packed me off to Catholic School.”

“Oh. Guess that explains your uhh... gay issues.”

“No!” Frank exclaimed, fighting the urge to turn around and feverishly assure his friend. “No, I’m not actually religious or anything, despite her best efforts. I really didn’t mean anything by it that day, I promise.”

Gerard chuckled and made his way back to the bed, swinging his legs in at his end, shooting Frank a sincere smile.

“It’s okay, I’m kidding. If you really had a problem with it you wouldn’t be sharing my bed.”

He smiled contentedly and laid down on the pillow, making Frank’s stomach dance happily.

“Ready for lights out?”

When they were left alone in the dark he continued his quiet panic that Gerard might believe him some sort of homophobe. Apparently he wasn’t quite as subtle about it as he thought, though, and felt one of Gerard’s toes poke into his side. 

“Hey,” came the quiet voice. “I’m glad we’re friends.”

It did nothing to calm his stomach, but everything to soothe his nerves. Debating it for a second, Frank moved his leg, settling it up comfortably against Gerard’s. “Me too.”

“...I’ve been thinking about you.”

Christ, Gerard really just wanted Frank to have a heart attack this evening, he was sure. 

“...Yeah?”

“About your band, and college and everything. You should apply to do music.” He let it settle for a beat before he elaborated. “You should go into the actual business side of things. Make your own label, a good one, that won’t rip bands off and destroy their dreams.”

Frank was taken aback by how warm the prospect made him feel. It would be perfect. He knew how shitty that felt, so he’d do everything within his power to stop it happening to anyone else. It wasn’t anything he’d really considered before, and perhaps just for tonight, while he could feel the warmth of Gerard’s skin through the pyjama pants material, he’d believe in it, without considering the logistics. 

“That’s a really good idea.”

He felt Gerard smile, as if that was even possible. One of those warm pants legs shifted, lying comfortably over his shin, foot hooking around the underside of Frank’s thigh. 

“Night, Frankie.”


	11. Chapter 11

###  30 Days Until Hand In 

Frank could tell something was wrong the second Gerard came into the shop. The sadness clung to him heavily, apparent in the step of his walk, the slump of his posture and in his face more than anything. The skin around his eyes was darker than usual, the expression in them dull. Frank had never seen him look so bad. 

Gerard had told him about the depression, but had also enthused at just how well he had been feeling recently. It wasn’t like Frank hadn’t seen him on a bad day, when everything about him just felt a little off-kilter, but this wasn’t the same. He could feel it in his gut. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Frank said, reaching across the counter as soon as Gerard approached it.

It was subtle but Gerard took a slight pace backward, and Frank retracted his hand, wounded. When his friend lifted his face they locked eyes solidly for longer than was strictly comfortable. He wanted to move forward, offer a hug or something, but after already having been knocked back once he couldn’t make himself shift to make the gesture.

Eyes were so revealing, in one sense. Gerard could have been smiling with his teeth but the expression in his eyes would have still given him away. However, the emotion itself was murky, rife with pain and sadness whilst clouding any hint as to what had gone wrong. He’d seemed fine on Friday, so Frank could only surmise that whatever had happened had done so over the weekend. It didn’t narrow it down, overly much.

Gerard kept staring, looking right into Frank like he was searching for something. He nodded to himself once, so lightly that it was almost imperceptible. 

“Gerard -”

“Can I have a black coffee please, Frank?”

The fact that Gerard verbally spoke his order was like a slap in the face. It communicated clearly that he didn’t want to talk about whatever was wrong, and Frank was readily accepting of this. However, it shouldn’t have hurt like that.

Frank fumbled, turning to punch in the order, almost knocking over a mug as he went. Gerard had the money and student card waiting for him like usual, but everything about it was wrong. Wordlessly they exchanged money and Frank trickled the liquid into a fresh mug. His mouth was dry, like swallowing cotton. 

Gerard sighed, curling his fingers around the handle of the cup, letting his hair – visibly unwashed – fall over his eyes. His voice was scratchy when he spoke.

“I’m okay.”

“Fucking bullshit,” Frank fired back.

Gerard flinched and moved away from the counter, crossing to sit at a single table in the corner before Frank could react. He didn’t even glance at the booth. 

*

It went without saying that Gerard felt terrible. Frank had seen it immediately, and although it hurt him to distance himself, Gerard could do nothing but shrug off his concern. He had made himself come tonight, even though it stung, jagged reminders in his chest of how fucking stupid he was. 

He hadn’t even drunk the coffee Frank made him about half an hour ago, and it had gone cold. Frank had respected Gerard’s need for space, which he appreciated, especially as he knew Frank was probably feeling just as weird about the whole arrangement. The booth had gone to someone else – a blonde girl with glasses, nosing through a musty library book and making notes. It was all wrong, and Gerard sighed again. He had reverted his relationship with Frank back to barista and customer and it was fucking ridiculous.

He flipped open his bag, and absently studied the papers he’d tucked in there four days ago. Taking a deep breath he stood, shouldering his bag and crossing to where Frank was wiping down the display unit. He was wary as Gerard approached, but turned to meet his eyes, concern still rife in them.

“I’m sorry,” Gerard said as soon as he stopped, forcing the words out before he swallowed them again.

Frank’s shoulders relaxed slightly and he tried on a bit of a smile, which Gerard couldn’t have returned even if he’d wanted to, despite how happy it made him to see it. 

“Don’t apologise,” Frank said quietly. “You don’t want to talk about it. It’s... okay. Frustrating, but okay.”

“Things are...weird,” Gerard started, trusting Frank to honour his words and not jump in. “I’m finding myself very hard to live with right now. It’s not the depression, it’s-. ...It doesn’t matter. I needed to give you something.”

He handed over the papers. Frank laid his cloth down and wiped his hands on his apron before taking them, brows knit in confusion. He looked at the small note in Gerard’s handwriting paperclipped to the front first and raised an eyebrow. 

“You’re not serious.”

“I am.”

“You want me to go back to Rutgers?”

Gerard had given Frank an application form to go back to college, affixed with the name of the course he should apply for, and the course description ripped from the Rutgers prospectus. 

“Yes. But this time on a course you’re actually interested in. You can do it, Frank; start up your own label, look after the bands you fight to sign. Fill out the form. The deadline is next week.”

“I don’t even know what the fuck to think right now” Frank exclaimed, out of a loss for words rather than anger. “You come in here, ordering your coffee like a normal fucking customer, and then thrust this under my nose urging me to ‘follow my dreams’? What the hell is even your deal today?”

Gerard reached out and gripped Frank’s arm, thumb over the star.  
“I’m not full of shit, Frank. You know you could do it.”

“Perhaps whether I can do it or not isn’t the fucking issue. You think I can afford college? They fucking cleaned me out, you _know_ that.”

“What are you even saving this money for, Frank?” Gerard asked, throwing out his arms and gesturing to the cafe. The look on Frank’s face was stirring something in his gut that he couldn’t allow to brew. He turned on his heel and left, calling out behind him “Fill out the form.”


	12. Chapter 12

###  25 Days Until Hand In 

The muscles in Frank’s calves were protesting at the speed and sheer strength of his strides as he stomped through New York. He’d been sitting at home, watching Saturday evening game shows with his mom just a little while ago. But he couldn’t concentrate. Not even at home, kicking back in Jersey with his Mom could Frank make himself relax for just a second. 

He hadn’t seen Gerard in five days. Five fucking days. The little prick had come in that night, looking distraught and run down, and then he’d fucking disappeared. On Tuesday Frank had been a jittery mess from the second his shift started, staring at the clock and willing the minutes to just fall away to that familiar sight of Gerard pushing the door open, little smile on his face. He had hoped Gerard would feel better, apologising profusely and sticking a couple of dollars in the tip jar, explaining that the college work was really starting to stress him out and he’d just needed a good night’s sleep and sorry I was such an asshole, Frank. 

But it didn’t come. Gerard hadn’t pushed open the door, and the shift had dragged on like the longest day of his life. He told himself that maybe he simply needed a day completely to himself to cool off. Surely he’d be in tomorrow. He’d be missing the coffee. And Frank would give him a slice of cake on the house to make him feel better. But again, Gerard was a no show. Nor the next night, the Thursday or the Friday. 

Had he done something? Had Frank upset him somehow? Had he accidentally ripped one of the corners on Gerard’s comic or something? Whether he’d been the cause of it or not, he was practically beside himself with worry, and then chocked up with irritation at himself for feeling so strongly. Perhaps the guy had simply switched coffee joints, moving on to the next barista, and Frank should stop being such a whiny little girl. 

He’d tried to forget, trying to strike up conversation with the other regulars and spending even more time than necessary with his head stuck in the fryer. It hadn’t worked, none of it, and he’d decided in the heat of the moment, when a trailer for The Phantom Menace had come on during the commercials that the only way he’d be able to settle his nerves would be to find out what was going on for himself. 

So here he was, tearing through New York on foot on his way over to Gerard’s place, seeing red as his brain replayed the comforting feeling of Gerard’s foot hooked around his thigh. He’d knocked on the door before he could even pause to take a breath. It didn’t take long for the door to open and he found himself face to face with Gerard himself, eyes bleary and smelling of beer, a bottle of vodka in his other hand. The way his eyes widened were almost comical. It only took the first couple of slurred words for Frank to discern that Gerard was already very drunk, as opposed to just beginning.

“Frank? What are you-?”

He didn’t really seem to know where to go from there. As soon as Frank really took in Gerard’s appearance, pyjamas stained with questionable substances and hair looking even worse than on Monday, he realised that this was drowning his sorrows, not a wild night in. The anger fell away to the worry he had been more in tune with at the beginning of the week. 

“Are you on your own?” he asked hesitantly.

“Ha. Yeah. Joe left. Said I was hopeless. Told him that’s the fuckin’ problem.” 

“...Can I come in?”

“You want to?” Gerard asked, tone innocently incredulous. 

“I’m not the one who’s been avoiding _you_ , am I?”

Gerard looked sheepish as he opened the door wider, letting Frank slip in beside him. Poking his head through the door to the lounge all he could see were discarded beer bottles and barely touched takeout cartons. A CD was running through the television and all the curtains were closed. No wonder Joe felt he had to get away. This was hardly conducive to a good working environment. 

He turned back to his messed up friend, wiping another swig of alcohol from his lips and pulling distractedly at his pyjama bottoms, as if realising what he looked like. 

“Gerard, you look like hell,” he said honestly. “Have you been eating? Sleeping?”

Gerard shook his head, the movement loose and fluid, as if his neck wasn’t fully attached to his shoulders. 

“Just drinkin’. You want some, Frankie?”

“No, and neither do you. You’ve had enough.”

He took the bottle gently from Gerard’s hand, sort of surprised when he gave it up easily, and went to yank the power on the television set, leaving them in silence. Gerard’s eyes, rubbed red raw, were glassy as he looked at Frank, his mouth set in a positively miserable downward curve. Frank set the bottle down on the coffee table and moved toward Gerard, who was swaying a little on his feet. 

“I think it’s time you got some rest, okay?”

He sort of felt like a father talking down a stubborn child, but it seemed that Gerard didn’t even have the energy to be stubborn, lifting his shoulders and letting them drop in a heavy shrug. 

“Can’t. Can’t stop, can’t sleep. Can’t _live_ , Frankie.” Frank’s chest tightened. “Can’t live with myself.” 

“You’re gonna be okay,” Frank said soothingly, crossing to Gerard and wrapping an arm around his waist to keep him steady. “Come on, G, let’s get you to bed, okay?”

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

“Ssh, don’t say sorry.” 

“Okay. Sorry.”

Frank manoeuvred them up the stairs as best he could, urging Gerard to grip the banister as they went to help support his weight. When he pushed open the bedroom door, he was careful to push the empty bottles that littered the floor away with his foot. There was crap all over the bed - comics, empty cans and clothes - so he propped Gerard against a wall while he cleared up. He dumped everything in a corner, turning his nose up as he noticed a particularly attractive patch of vomit, and reached out for Gerard to take his hand. Gerard gripped his forearm instead, nails scratching at Frank’s star tattoo as he climbed into the bed. 

“Do you want anything?” Frank asked him gently.

Gerard shook his head sadly, and Frank let it go, even though he knew he should probably make the guy choke down some water. He stood up, aiming to go through to the bathroom and find something suitable to clean up the vomit when Gerard whimpered. 

“Don’t go away.”

“I wasn’t. I just need to clean up a little. You puked on the floor, didn’t you?”

“I feel sick.”

“Should I get a bucket?”

“I make myself sick.”

Frank crouched back down, resting a hand on Gerard’s head and thumbing gently through his hair. “Gerard, what’s the matter?” he asked, tone urgent but kind.

He made a sobbing noise in reply, closing his eyes, but pushing further into Frank’s touch. “I did it. I did it again. I hurt him. Sent him away.”

It took Frank a moment. “Bert? You hurt Bert again?”

Gerard’s answering nod was violent, a tear squeezing its way out from under his eyelid. 

“Why?”

“It’s just easy. He’s lovely, so lovely. But it’s just easy. I don’t really- I _never_ really. And now there’s someone. And I felt better inside. So I hurt him, and now I feel sick.” 

Frank circled his thumb over Gerard’s hair, heart clutching.

“If there’s someone else then you did the right thing. You’d have only hurt him worse in the long run.”

“I know, but-”

“No buts, okay? Shit happens. You didn’t hurt him on purpose, and he’ll be okay. He’ll get his fashion degree and he’ll do really well, and he’ll smile when he thinks of you. Like I do.”

Gerard’s wet eyes flew open.“You do?”

“Of course I do,” Frank urged. “I’ve been worried fucking sick all week. I mean look at me, I came to your fucking house,” he smiled. 

Gerard blinked for a second before blurting out:  
“It’s you. The someone.” 

Frank was shell-shocked, sinking down into a proper kneel and staring back at Gerard’s dizzy gaze.  
“What?”

“Bert wanted me. Like for real. ...And I just wanted to top and tail with you.” Gerard was beginning to whisper, eyes growing scared as he watched the colour drain from Frank’s face, spluttering hurriedly. “I know it’s not like that. You’re my friend and you’re Catholic, but-”

“I’m not” Frank interjected strongly before he realised he’d opened his mouth. “I’m not Catholic.” 

“Oh.”

They blinked at each other for a couple of seconds, and then Frank watched in slow motion as Gerard lightly gripped Frank’s shirt and pulled him down toward his face. He kept his mouth closed and his eyes open when he kissed Frank, letting go of him soon after and watching the expression on his face. 

Frank’s lungs were panicking in his chest, but his face was blank, mind trying to process what had just happened. When Gerard was satisfied that Frank wasn’t going to bolt, he settled fully into the pillow.

“You’re my friend though, right?” he asked as an afterthought. 

“Yeah,” Frank nodded. “Yeah, I’m your friend.”

“’Kay.”

Frank realised his hand was still in Gerard’s hair. He didn’t remove it. 

“I sent off the application,” he said. A small smile tugged the corners of his mouth upwards as he watched Gerard’s eyes light up in hope.

“Rutgers?” 

“Yeah. BA in Music, here I come.”

Gerard smiled happily and snuggled his face against the pillow, curling the comforter around his shoulder. “Good.”

Frank gave Gerard’s hair one last ruffle, and finally ventured for something to clean the floor up with. He returned with a soaked towel and systematically folded the vomit inward as he wiped. 

“I’ll see you on Monday?”

“Uh huh,” Gerard replied in a sleepy voice that told Frank he wasn’t going to be conscious for much longer. 

He switched off the light and tossed the towel in the trash, figuring it was easier than trying to wash it. He had intended to leave, as he’d told his Mom he wouldn’t be long, but instead Frank found himself clearing up the lounge whilst pondering the fact that he’d just kissed a man.


	13. Chapter 13

###  19 Days Until Hand In 

Things had gone relatively back to normal since the night Frank had visited Gerard’s house. Joe had returned the following day, happy that Gerard’s binge was apparently over, and Gerard hadn’t missed a night at Westside since, having needed to feverishly work his ass off to catch up on the five days in which he’d done no work and devoured more units of alcohol than should have been possible. He hadn’t touched a drop since, feeling vaguely ill whenever he wandered through the alcohol aisle on his weekly shop. 

Neither of them had mentioned the kiss, yet Gerard intrinsically knew that they weren’t avoiding the subject out of embarrassment. It simply didn’t _need_ to be talked about, and if anything their relationship was better for it. Gerard had a sneaking suspicion that Beth knew what had gone on, because every now and then he’d catch her looking at the two of them whilst they were talking with a particularly romantic look upon her face. 

It was a little nerve-wracking every once in a while when Gerard remembered that Frank knew he had a crush on him, but he wasn’t cruel about it at all, which was a heady relief. He had been afraid when he came in that following Monday that he’d be able to feel the difference; Frank distancing himself in case Gerard tried to mount him or something. Thankfully that wasn’t the case. 

“I’m having second thoughts about the course,” Frank said as he approached Gerard with a slice of cake. “I’m not sure I’m cut out for studying again. I mean, I was never really that great at it to begin with.”

“Will you shut the hell up?” Gerard smiled. “You’re going to be fantastic, okay? You can’t keep milking me for compliments like this, I’m gonna run out soon. Gimme the cake.”

Frank slid it over, taking a seat at the booth and resting his chin in his hand. “Haven’t even told Mom yet.”

“Wh nngh?” Gerard mumbled through a mouthful of cake.

“Well I mean, Music? It’s a bit of a leap from English Lit.”

Gerard gulped.  
“Yeah, but she’s your Mom. She must know how heartbroken you were after Pencey. It’s a healthy way to deal with the shit that went on, and you’ll know exactly how to play it to stop it from happening to someone else.” 

Frank hummed noncommittally, as he usually did when this subject came up. He still wasn’t entirely convinced, and Gerard had to fight him on it practically every night. He’d keep doing it, though. He knew in his gut that Frank was going to make a difference. The Jersey scene would benefit from him, as soon as he got that degree and the resources to hash a label together. 

“I’ve been thinking,” Frank started, clearing his throat. Gerard wasn’t oblivious to the way Frank was scratching at the tabletop with one of his fingers and raised an eyebrow. “You...like me. Right?”

Gerard coughed self-consciously, pulling apart his remaining bit of cake into crumbs. 

“You already know that,” he said quietly. 

“Well,” Frank took an audible breath. “Maybe we should hang out or something. Y’know, outside of the coffee shop.” 

Gerard’s stomach danced about recklessly and he was embarrassed at how his heart rate had picked up. He felt a little nauseous as he replied, trying to make it sound as casual as possible. 

“Yeah, okay. ...Maybe you could come back to mine one night.”

He flushed as he ground the cake down into the consistency of a brownie with his thumb, still unable to look up and meet Frank’s eye. 

“Sounds good,” Frank said tightly with a smile, clearly just as embarrassed. 

He rose from the booth then, holding his hand out for Gerard’s plate. Moving to pass it over their eyes met finally, and Frank’s grin was giddy and infectious. He pushed some sweat-soaked strands of hair from his forehead and slowly let his gaze slip down to Gerard’s mouth and back up again. Gerard’s eyes flew open, remembering that night, how right it had felt even through the drunken haze. Frank smirked, meandering happily back to the kitchen to fix the fryer.


	14. Chapter 14

###  12 Days Until Hand In 

Today was the day, Frank was almost certain of it. He had no idea why it had taken so long between suggesting that he and Gerard hang out properly and actually getting around to putting it into action, but he was just feeling it tonight. It was something new and exciting, and he’d made it damn clear to Gerard simply through the power of suggestion what this was going to be. He had warned his mom he might be hanging out with Beth tonight, so if he chickened out and couldn’t work up the courage to ask, he wouldn’t look like a loser when he slunk back home. 

Gerard seemed to have been getting a lot done tonight, as every time Frank looked over he was hunched over his sketchbook, nose practically pressed to the paper. Frank angled his head toward the clock to check the time, and finding his estimations to be correct he lifted the pre-cut slice of cake from the cabinet and made his way over to the booth. Gerard seemed to sense his presence, looking up and making grabby hands for the sponge. 

“I’m gonna put on all that weight I lost,” Gerard sighed with mock-feeling, shovelling in the cake without hesitation. 

He’d laid the correct change out on the table already, so Frank scooped it up ready to pop into the till. He turned it in his hand for a moment, looking down at Gerard and wondering how he’d found himself crushing on a guy. It made his stomach turn over with nerves, but he waited until Gerard looked up again – sucking some cream from the very tip of his thumb – and bit the bullet. 

“You free to hang out tonight?”

Gerard’s mouth relaxed but he didn’t move his thumb yet, looking steadily up at Frank as if to check he was being serious. The hand lowered, curling around the edge of his plate. 

“Sure. ...Joe’s at his parents.” Frank’s mouth quirked before he could stop himself. It was a decidedly happy coincidence. “I’ll stay ‘til closing and we can walk together.”

Frank nodded happily, stomach flopping over itself the whole time. 

The rest of the shift passed slower than Frank thought physically possible. He was nervous as fuck. He was so anxious to leave that he’d started clearing up even earlier than usual, meaning that by 11:05pm they were already locking up and heading back to Gerard’s place. 

They walked together closely, shoulders brushing every couple of steps. They were silent, not knowing quite what to say. Frank had no idea what was about to go down, how he would handle it or whether he’d even like it. Looking down at him shyly, Gerard’s little finger tentatively hooked itself around Frank’s. It was cute so Frank let him, not moving away and not shifting to slide his hand into Gerard’s palm. 

When they got to the door, Gerard fumbled a little with the key, and Frank tried not to laugh, realising for the first time that his friend seemed to be just as nervous as he was. This time when they went indoors, the house smelt of nothing but normality, and they weren’t falling over bottles to step into the hallway. Gerard locked the door behind him and hung his canvas bag over the bottom of the banister. Frank shrugged off his backpack and hoodie together, letting them drop to the floor with a thud. 

“You...want to?” Gerard asked timidly, shaking his hair into his eyes to obstruct his view of Frank. 

They were keeping all suggestions of what was about to happen deliberately vague, which made Frank feel a lot better about the situation. He wanted to try _something_ but he wasn’t anywhere near sure enough – nor curious enough – to commit to going all the way. That was still a terrifying and vaguely nauseating idea to him. He took a few shallow breaths, lips slightly parted as he looked up at Gerard. 

“Okay.” 

*

Gerard was nervous as fuck as he led Frank upstairs by the hand. He’d never been anyone’s first gay experience before, let alone somebody he liked so bad. He’d spent a lot of time over the last couple of months brushing off the jolt in his belly every time Frank smiled at him, telling himself that he could work things out with Bert, and besides, Frank was _straight_. But here they were. Frank clearly was not as poker straight as he thought he was, and this made Gerard happier than it should. 

He wanted to be with Frank, _really_ be with him. He wanted to cuddle like idiots whilst having movie marathons with a bowl of popcorn neither of them would eat. He wanted to make Frank dinner, even though he wasn’t really very good at it. He wanted to hold his hand as he walked him home from Westside. He wanted to give Frank a kiss good luck before his interview at Rutgers. He wanted to see Frank naked, although they should probably be taking things slow on that count. 

He let go of Frank’s hand and closed the door behind him. He was unsure to proceed from here, especially with Frank’s inexperience, so he decided to be the gentleman and let Frank decide what was going to happen. 

Frank had sat down on the bed and had already removed his shirt. The pang of heat went straight to his stomach, and he mirrored the action, dropping his own on the floor. Frank was looking up expectantly, lips slightly parted, the bottom one moist with saliva. Gerard moved closer, and leant down, joining their mouths together. 

It was so much better than the last time. For a start, he wasn’t trying to protect Frank from the taste of stale vomit, and secondly, it was far more insistent. Frank was pushing back, sliding his tongue up against Gerard’s, knowing this part like the back of his hand. They kissed like this for a minute or so, movements growing increasingly desperate and Gerard’s urge to touch himself growing stronger. When he got up the courage to do so, sliding a hand down to press over the bulge in his jeans Frank pulled back, leaning against the wall and watching, eyes wide. 

“Frank?” Gerard said softly, turned on by the way Frank was staring at him. “You’re calling the shots, okay? What do you want to do?”

Frank licked his lips once, flicking his eyes between Gerard’s hand and Gerard’s mouth, and popped the buttons on his jeans. Gerard leant down to help, removing Frank’s sneakers and socks, tugging on the denim hems as Frank lifted up. There was a visible wet patch of precome on Frank’s boxer shorts already, and Gerard’s mouth watered, wishing to touch, to taste. But he waited patiently for Frank’s word, dick throbbing heavily under the barrier of his own clothes. 

Watching Gerard’s face as he did it, Frank reached into his shorts and pulled out his dick, hard and red at the tip. He wrapped two fingers around and stroked himself slowly, twice. Gerard couldn’t help himself and slid his hand back down to his crotch, rubbing harder than before.   
“That,” Frank gasped. “That, I want to watch.”

Okay. Okay, Gerard could do that. And to be perfectly honest, it would simply be a relief to be able to touch himself. He kicked off his shoes, reaching down to remove his socks, and paused with his hands over his fly. Frank’s hand was moving steadily over himself, his eyes slipping closed every once in a while. He was already half gone and Gerard knew that it wasn’t going to take long. 

He popped the button, and slid down the zip, carefully, letting the jeans fall down his legs slowly and pool at his ankles. Watching Frank all the while, he stepped out of them and rubbed over himself, drawing in a breath as he did so. Frank’s mouth was hanging open, chest rising steadily but deeply. Gerard discarded his own boxer shorts, leaving himself completely naked in front of Frank when he licked once over his palm. He could see Frank’s grip tighten, and it was like a shallow punch in the gut when he finally curled his palm around himself and began to stroke. 

His stomach muscles tightened up quickly, varying his speed and letting his breath come as it wanted to, not holding anything back in front of Frank, who was slowly beginning to lose control of himself on the bed. He could barely keep his eyes open now, breath puffing out in harsh gasps as he moved his other hand down to cup his balls. Every so often a little noise would escape with Frank’s breath and Gerard would throb heavily in his own hand. He wanted to kiss Frank as he came, swallowing the shaky breaths and feeling the jerks of Frank’s aftershocks against his mouth. 

His own legs were growing unsteady, balls heavy with the want. The urge to touch Frank was getting too great and he moved forward, extending a hand and exhaling loudly with each stroke of the hand. 

“Let me touch you,” he whispered, settling his thumb over the head of Frank’s cock. 

Frank pushed him away.   
“Nngh. Don’t stop, don’t, keep going. I’m gonna...”

Even as the gasp in Frank’s voice sent another spike of lust to his belly, Gerard’s face fell. In any ordinary circumstance he would have assumed that his partner was simply too close to stop his own movements, which would have turned him on even more. They could have fought over the urge to bring Frank to climax, and Gerard could have put on even more of a show, making noises or trying to talk dirty as he fucked his own hand in front of him. But that’s not what was happening here. 

Frank had begged Gerard not to stop touching himself, but he wasn’t even looking anymore. He hadn’t really been looking for a while. His eyes were closed and he was lost inside his own head. The only thing in the room he was conscious of was the speed of his own hand, and Gerard’s own strokes became slower and shallower in response. He was still so turned on, but this wasn’t what was supposed to happen. 

Frank’s movements grew even more desperate, and his mouth contorted whilst his eyebrows drew together. The whimpering noises that made Gerard’s abdomen tighten were growing louder and more insistent. 

“I’m – I’m gonna come,” Frank gasped.

Gerard surged forward, getting a knee on the bed, and cupping Frank’s cheek, moving in with his mouth. Frank twisted, folding in on himself and turning his head violently away as he coughed out an oath. Gerard felt the splash of Frank’s come on his stomach and he froze, mouth open in dull shock. 

As Frank came down, breathing heavily and milking the last of his cock, Gerard got up from the bed, feeling like a complete fool. He tugged his jeans back up, leaving them unbuttoned, just using the denim to cover his modesty. He turned his back on Frank, running his hands over his face and staring blankly at the wall. His dick was still hard but the thought of touching it made himself want to vomit. 

He turned back around eventually, as the puff of Frank’s breath steadied back to normal. He waited for them to meet eyes, and when Frank grinned languidly, Gerard snapped. Bending to the floor he scooped up all of Frank’s belongings and threw them at him on the bed. 

“Hey, what -” came Frank’s muffled voice under his clothes. His decidedly ruffled head poked out again, looking confused. His gaze moved down to Gerard’s crotch, and he looked even more stunned. “You didn’t come?”

Gerard didn’t even have the strength to answer.  
“Get the fuck out, Frank.”

“What? What the fuck?”

“Get out of my fucking house, I feel like I’m gonna hurl.”

“What the hell’s wrong with you now?” Frank cried, wiping his hand off on Gerard’s sheets. 

“Let me fucking _think_.”

Frank got up rigidly, pulling his clothes back on. 

Gerard could barely stand. “How can you not know?” he hissed. “You could barely look at me. Whatever the fuck you were wanking yourself off to, it sure as hell wasn’t me.” Frank was staring, mouth gaping. “The thought of me touching you made you fucking sick, didn’t it?”

He had genuinely thought Frank liked him. Wanted to be with him like Gerard wanted to be with Frank. His chest ached, and he wanted to cry when he realised his dick was still throbbing. 

“I don’t know what the fuck you thought this was, Frank, but I am not some fucking experiment for curious little Catholic boys.”

“For fuck’s sake, Gerard, how many times?” Frank threw up his hands. “Not Catholic!”

“That’s hardly the key point, okay? I was not your fucking try out for the other team. ...Or at least I didn’t think I was.”

Frank had paused, shaking his head, whether at Gerard or himself. His hands were on his own face now, too, and when he looked back up at Gerard, the look in his eyes was almost incredulous.   
“If I don’t experiment, how will I come to a conclusion?”

Gerard scoffed.  
“Don’t you think if the result had been positive you’d have let me fucking touch you?” He pushed past Frank and sat on his bed, kicking the comforter off when he noticed the wet patch from Frank’s come. “ _Yes_ , you’re supposed to experiment. But not on someone you’ve fucking befriended over several weeks and certainly not someone who’s fucking fallen for you. Eager little twinks in gay bars, _that’s_ who you’re supposed to experiment on, alright? Not me. Not fucking _me_.” He covered his face when he realised his eyes had begun to fill. “Now get out.” 

He felt like he was about to throw up his lungs, and didn’t look up until he heard the harsh slam of the front door.


	15. Chapter 15

###  9 Days Until Hand In 

The more Frank thought about what Gerard had said, the more he hated himself. He’d been right, of course he had. Frank had come to Gerard’s house eager for a new experience, not exactly eager to be with Gerard himself. It wasn’t that he didn’t _like _Gerard, because he did, to the degree that it scared him.__

__He’d been steadily realising his attraction to Gerard ever since the day they’d first spoken. But it scared him. It terrified him and it kept him up at night before waking him up in the morning hard as rock, so much so that he would come with only a couple of strokes. He’d tampered it down, trying not to think about it, but it was no use. And then they’d kissed, and there was no way back. Now it plagued his every moment, and there was nothing to do but admit that he had feelings for the guy._ _

__The want that had overcome him in Gerard’s room three nights ago was foreign to him, taking him over and making him desperate for things he didn’t realise he needed. The urge to touch someone else’s dick was weird. The fact that he had a naked guy in front of him was weird. Wanting to feel a man’s stubble between his thighs was weird. So he’d clamped his eyes shut. He had brought to mind every dirty magazine he’d ever looked at, every porn link he’d ever clicked on the computer late at night, every ex-girlfriend with her breasts bouncing above him. And still his thoughts had strayed back to Gerard._ _

__The thought that he’d ruined their friendship and whatever else had been possible for them made him want to curl up and die. He’d known that Gerard wanted him, known it like he knew the guitar riffs to all of Pencey’s songs, and he’d used it shamelessly, to try and slake his curiosity._ _

__So here he was, sleepy and miserable, slurping down some sort of cocktail in a bar that held a hand painted rainbow flag out of one window. He was going to do what Gerard said, and see where it took him._ _

__A tanned boy in the corner kept looking Frank’s way. His natural instinct was to turn away as soon as he noticed the tight t-shirt didn’t quite reach the boy’s hips and that he had one massive hoop earring in his right ear. But he didn’t. Frank steadily held his gaze, even when the boy hollowed his cheeks around the straw in his drink._ _

__After a few minutes the boy made his way over, pressing himself against Frank’s side and saying “Hi” directly in his ear so as to be heard above the music. Frank’s stomach fluttered lightly. He decided to be honest from the onset this time. He gestured for the boy to turn his head, and he cupped his hands around his ear._ _

__“I’m not sure if I like boys.”_ _

__The boy chuckled heartily against Frank’s side, and used his hands to bring Frank’s ear back to his mouth._ _

__“That’s okay. We can go find out for you.”_ _


	16. Chapter 16

###  5 Days Until Hand In 

Gerard groaned when he opened the front door to Frank’s face. 

“I’m quite aware I haven’t been in for coffee. Thank you for your concern, I’m fine, but please leave.”

He started to close the door without waiting for an answer, when Frank stuck a leg in an obstruction. Gerard sighed, head thunking against the door frame once, before pulling it open again, pleading with his eyes.

“Frank, I have 5 days left.” 

“So do I.”

His eyebrows quirked.“What?” 

“I have my interview at Rutgers on May 19th.”

Gerard blinked a couple of times, residual anger and hurt melding with pride and relief at seeing Frank’s face.

“That’s... great. It really is. I’m happy for you. ...But maybe you should be telling your mom instead of me, alright?”

“I did,” Frank grinned. “I told her you made me apply. I told her I met you at Westside, and that I stayed at your place that time I said I was with Beth. I told her about your comics. I told her I’m in love with you.”

Gerard’s eyes bugged out of his head, heart hammering instantly against his ribcage in desperation. He wanted to cry for how good the words sounded against his eardrum. But he didn’t. Couldn’t. Even as Frank’s sincere smile remained, so did Gerard’s scepticism. 

“Frank, please,” he said quietly, not quite sure what he was begging for. 

“I did what you said,” Frank said urgently. “I got with a dude in some bar.”

“Oh wow,” Gerard said sourly. “Is this supposed to make me feel better?”

“No, no, listen,” Frank said, hand shooting out to grip Gerard’s. Gerard wanted to tug it away, just on principle, but he couldn’t make himself do it, the skin of Frank’s fingers a comfort despite himself. “I couldn’t. I couldn’t do it. Like, he was cute, and I got hard and everything. But I _couldn’t_. Not because he was a guy, but because he wasn’t you.”

Gerard was well aware how terrified he must look, eager to believe the words he was hearing, but scared to let Frank in and be burnt again. His grip was tight in Frank’s, but he shook his head tightly in disbelief. 

“Is Joe in?” Gerard waited a beat, before slowly shaking his head again. “Then let me in. I can show you. I want to show you.” 

 

*

They ended up back where they had been before when Frank had made everything go wrong. He wasn’t going to let the same happen this time. His stomach was churning with nerves again, but this time he had the strength to push past them. He hadn’t let go of Gerard’s hand yet, and his friend was still shifting nervously on the spot, understandably sceptical that Frank was being genuine. 

He closed the gap between them, linking their spare hands on the other side, looking up into Gerard’s face. He was beautiful, and it was a heady relief to be able to have the thought without freaking out and thinking of unattractive girls with big tits. 

“It’s okay,” he said briefly, before lifting onto his toes and pressing their mouths together.

His eyes slipped closed immediately, and he lost himself in the feel of Gerard’s lips, tongue tentatively darting out to begin with, before relaxing into it with a sigh and letting the kiss get perfect and lazy. It was natural, just like it had been with any of his ex-girlfriends, and he knew that this was right. 

After a moment Frank drew his hands back, pulling Gerard’s arms tighter around him. He untangled their fingers and lifted his arms up to both cup Gerard’s face and slide a hand into his hair as Gerard locked his hands at the base of Frank’s spine, pulling their hips together. They kissed like that for a long time, getting dizzy with it, until Frank pulled back gently, giving Gerard a quick peck on the end of his pointed nose. 

“I’m going to touch you now,” he whispered. Gerard whined in his throat, sliding his hands underneath Frank’s shirt onto the warm skin of his lower back. “I wanted to before. I wanted to touch you so badly. But I was scared, and I didn’t know how. But I don’t care anymore. I don’t care if I’m scared.”

He stopped talking then, reaching up to kiss Gerard again for a little while, before they drew back and undressed each other, clothes falling together into piles on the floor. When stripped down to their boxers, Gerard took Frank’s hand and led them both to the bed, having seemingly lost all of his doubt. They laid on their sides together, Gerard stroking stupidly tenderly over Frank’s face, eyes just a little glassy. 

“You really hurt me,” he murmured. 

“I’m so sorry,” Frank said, pressing a kiss to Gerard’s collar bone. 

Gerard smiled in reply, blinking furiously for a second before sliding a hand onto Frank’s navel. “Are you going to let me?”

“If you don’t, I’ll beg you,” Frank giggled, his own hand already reaching inside Gerard’s boxer shorts.

It felt weird, touching someone else’s dick, just like he thought it would. But it didn’t make him feel stupid, or disgusting, it just felt natural. Like what the fuck _else _would he possibly be doing, other than this? He closed his hand around it, just like Gerard was doing to his own, and he stroked, lightly at first to build his confidence. It felt so much better having someone else stroke him off; he’d almost forgotten; it had been so long.__

__They began to kiss as their hands picked up speed, and they shifted closer together, even though the change in angle hurt their arms a little bit. Frank could feel the lust picking up, burying hotly in his belly, and his throat began to let out little noises as he bit at Gerard’s mouth. He could feel Gerard’s precome smearing against his fist as he moved it up and down, and his own hips began to stutter._ _

__Gerard tore his mouth away from Frank’s and rested it against the side of his head, hot breaths sinking into his hair.  
“Fuck me, Frank.” _ _

__It was the best idea Frank had ever heard, even though it increased his nerves tenfold. He nodded furiously, thrusting into the air when Gerard took his hand away. When Gerard moved away to retrieve something from his bedside drawer, Frank moved with him, clinging onto his back and pressing kisses into the slightly sweaty skin. Now that he’d worked up the courage to touch he didn’t want to stop._ _

__When Gerard laid back down they kissed deeply, and Frank rolled him onto his back to remove both pairs of underwear. He sat back, unsure as to what came next, but eager to find out. Gerard adjusted the pillows behind his head and bent his knees up, placing both feet flat. He gestured to the bottle of lubrication he had retrieved and held out his fingers for Frank to coat with it._ _

__He wasn’t sure how much to squeeze out, stopping when Gerard nodded, and watched as Gerard wiggled a finger into himself. The answering gasp was harsh, and Frank moved a hand soothingly over Gerard’s knee._ _

__“I’m gonna need your help,” Gerard said from beneath him. “Can you do that for me?”_ _

__“Uh huh,” Frank said, kissing the knee as he nodded. “Just remember I’m new at this, okay?”_ _

__Gerard tried to smile through his grimace as he added another finger and stretched himself out as much as he could with his arm bent at such an angle. Frank squeezed some lube onto his own hand while he waited for Gerard’s word, pushing in tentatively when he nodded. The plus side of being at this angle was that Frank could go deeper, even though he hesitated every time Gerard winced or sucked in a breath._ _

__“It’s okay, keep going,” Gerard said, sighing and wiggling as the feeling became familiar and less intrusive. “You’re doing great.”_ _

__When Gerard reached up to grip Frank’s arm, he withdrew his fingers, wiping them off on the duvet. He stroked himself back to full hardness while he did the same to Gerard, and then rolled the condom onto himself before generously applying more lubrication. He leant over Gerard, one hand planted beside Gerard’s head and the other gripping himself at the base, while Gerard hooked a hand underneath one of his knees, pulling it up as far as he could._ _

__They both exchanged a scared but exhilarated look as Gerard nodded timidly. Frank pushed into Gerard slowly but firmly, pushing past the muscle and sinking himself in to the hilt. Gerard’s face was scrunched up and tight as he adjusted to the new sensation, pushing his face gratefully against Frank’s hand when he brought it up to stroke the smooth of Gerard’s cheek. Eventually Gerard blew out a steady breath and smiled. Frank didn’t need to ask._ _

__He drew back slowly and pushed back in, stomach spiking at the little vocalisation Gerard made as he did so. It felt so good, the smooth tightness around him, and he picked up speed, not wanting to slam in just in case he hurt Gerard, but thrusts growing more firm and determined as they went along. Sweat dripped from Frank’s forehead, and Gerard’s lips gaped loosely around his own knee as he held himself open._ _

__He wasn’t going to last long, but he didn’t think Gerard was either, as it wasn’t long before Gerard’s other hand flew down to his dick, setting a brutal pace from the onset. They locked mouths occasionally, humming against each other as they moved together, and Gerard began to rock himself to meet Frank’s thrusts, eyes closed and mouth open._ _

__Just as Frank was beginning to lose control of his hips, stuttering and snapping, he could hear Gerard’s noises grow closer together and more desperate than before. Keeping his eyes on Gerard’s face the whole while, he watched the pleasure slowly take control, eyes screwing themselves shut as he cried, releasing all over his own chest and leaning his head back as far as he could, neck taut and flushed._ _

__Frank fought to slow himself, letting Gerard’s hand slow and squeeze out the last of his climax before letting his hand fall loosely onto the bed beside him. They both laughed when Gerard cracked open an eye, grinning, and he sighed, rolling his shoulders and propping himself up on his elbows._ _

__“Okay,” he smiled, ready for Frank to finish off._ _

__They kissed lazily while Frank built up speed again, until Frank could do nothing but move, short moans escaping with every slap of his hips. His eyes screwed shut and his mouth contorted as his orgasm took over, bursting out of him like a release he’d been waiting years for. Just as he began to empty himself, Gerard fisted his hands in Frank’s hair, letting his body weight tug the two of them down into the mattress as he feverishly attacked Frank’s mouth with his own, swallowing every cry._ _

__When he was spent, Frank collapsed, resting his forehead against Gerard’s collarbone, suddenly aware of the fact that he’d just planted himself in a puddle of come. He laughed once, shortly, and then focused on getting his breath back. They laid in silence for a while, Frank carefully slipping out and laying his head on Gerard’s chest._ _

__“You really told your mom?”_ _

__“Yeah,” he chuckled. “Granted, I was drunk when I did it, but hey, there’s no going back now.”_ _

__“Did she freak?”_ _

__“Of course not. I did keep telling you your Catholic theory was bogus. My mom wouldn’t let some stupid book tell her she should disown her son for wanting to touch someone else’s dick.”_ _

__“I’m really glad about that,” Gerard said with feeling, curling an arm around Frank’s shoulder._ _

__“So am I. I mean, you’re totally coming to dinner and stuff after you’ve graduated and moved back to Jersey.”_ _

__Gerard’s chest bounced under Frank’s cheek in a silent laugh. “Who said I was moving back?”_ _

__“I fucking did. You’re gonna have to pay for all my shit while my money’s being spent on the course you made me apply to.”_ _

__There was a short pause as the two of them smiled, snuggling closer together._ _

__“I can do that,” Gerard said softly, letting them fall into comfortable silence again._ _


	17. Chapter 17

###  The Day of Hand In 

Gerard took a deep breath as he stared at the submission slot. This is what 3 years of college had all amounted to, and he was a little scared to take the last step. He had spent the morning putting all of his pieces into a suitable presentation folder, making sure all the annotations and footnotes were correct whilst trying not to worry too badly about how Frank was doing in his interview at Rutgers. In one way it had been perfect that these two events would occur on the same day, but in another it simply meant that they were worrying about each other instead of being able to concentrate fully on their own situation. 

Thankfully Frank had reported back that all had gone well. They had spoken to him briefly about why he dropped out before, obviously angling as to whether he was cut out for life as a student, and why would we not assume that you’ll do the same thing to us on the music course? However when he took a deep breath and told the whole story like he had to Gerard, it could only lean in his favour. He had first-hand experience with being a performer, and he had negative experiences with a record label on which he could build his own knowledge to improve his own treatment of bands, should he be lucky enough to get that far one day – and Gerard was sure he would.

Everything between the two of them was great. They’d agreed on exclusivity almost immediately after getting out of bed, and neither of them had been wary or nervous about entering into a relationship. It was just the natural course, and to be perfectly stark, what they’d been avoiding all along.

Frank slipped his hand into Gerard’s and gave it a squeeze of encouragement. He didn’t wait any longer, dropping the completed portfolio into the box to signify completion of his degree. Now he just had to waste away the summer with Frank while he waited for the results. It didn’t sound like such a bad deal. 

“What now?” he asked, as they walked away from SVA, hand in hand.

“You’re kidding, right?” Frank asked, sliding him a look.

Gerard wracked his brains, trying to work out whether there was something he’d forgotten. He came up blank, shrugging apologetically and looking at Frank in confusion. Frank merely grinned and reached into his pocket, from which he produced two ticket stubs. Gerard angled his head to read it and broke into a smile so wide he feared it might split his face. They were tickets to the movie theatre.

“The Phantom fucking Menace.” He leant down and gave Frank a loud kiss on the mouth, a sudden spring in his step. “I fucking love you.”


End file.
